


A Good Spot

by Velvedere



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Speculation, day in the life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:11:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8937508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvedere/pseuds/Velvedere
Summary: It's not a scam. Not really. Just one of the many things they have to do to survive.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was vomited out after only one viewing of Rogue One, so apologies for speculative characterization.

Baze watched from an alcove positioned a little above where Chirrut sat at the street corner, giving him a good view of the intersection. As street corners went, it was one of the best in the city, plopped right near the marketplace in one of the main traffic flows. People of all sorts flowed through there from dawn until dusk. Chirrut had compared it to a river: babbling Huttese and trade languages while dusty brown and mud-covered waters made their way around the immovable white stones of stormtroopers.

Baze had sighed and shook his head, regarding that about as much as he did any of Chirrut’s extended metaphors.

Chirrut was running one of his routines. Not a scam – not really – though even if it was that would hardly be enough to distinguish them from anyone else trying to make a few credits there. No one came to Jedha for the scenery, and Imperial-occupied worlds were never a good place to linger.

It was habit by now: Chirrut would stake out a place with good visibility, plop down and play the mysterious fortune teller, beckoning people over or getting their attention with unprompted remarks that hit a little too close to home.

It worked.

Most of the time.

Even if sometimes it meant someone just wanted to beat him up.

That was when Baze stepped in. His job was to run damage control and keep an eye out for trouble before it got too close.

At the moment, Chirrut had his hands clasped around that of a surly-looking Nautolan, who leaned back as far as he could away from him without breaking contact and looked distinctly uncomfortable under the attention. Chirrut ignored that and pressed his forehead to the back of the Nautolan’s palm anyway, pretending to concentrate.

“Ah!” Chirrut said as he lifted his head, perfectly dramatic and with a showman’s flare. He let the Nautolan’s hand go – the Nautolan jerked it back, rubbing the feel of human off of his skin – and swooned, leaning on his staff and touching his brow.

Then Chirrut smiled.

He had a nice smile. The sort people wanted to believe.

“You do not have to worry,” he said, patting the Nautolan’s arm. “Your wife loves you. She has never even dreamed of being with anyone else.”

“Really?” The Nautolan’s face lit up in delight. His headtails curled.

Chirrut nodded.

“She keeps the ring concealed because she does not want thieves to notice it. But she guards it closely.”

It looked to Baze like the Nautolan might start crying.

“Thank you!” He grabbed Chirrut’s hand and shook it fiercely. “Thank you so much!”

Chirrut nodded, gracious and modest, but left his hand extended once the Nautolan released it. He made a small beckoning gesture.

“—oh! Right.” The Nautolan dug in his pockets until he found a small credit stick. He pushed it into Chirrut’s hand and then turned to go, hurrying away through the crowd.

One flick of his wrist, and Chirrut concealed the credstick in his sleeve. Anyone watching would have seen it simply disappear.

“Next?” he prompted, calling out to the crowd as he folded his hands neatly in front of him and stared ahead at nothing. “Fortunes told? Mysteries of the universe revealed? A really good recipe for deep fried three-horned rastonian? The Force is strong with this one!”

Baze laughed a little to himself. He shook his head as he clomped down from his lookout, folding his arms over his chest and moving to place himself just over Chirrut’s shoulder.

“Was that one true?” he grunted.

“No,” said Chirrut, smiling a little to himself. “She sold the ring months ago, and has had a string of affairs ever since.”

Baze watched his smile. It was more telling than Chirrut’s eyes, where expression never quite reached. But his smile was telling. The way it quirked to one side or tilted a certain way.

“Why didn’t you tell him that?”

“Because people don’t pay for bad news.” Chirrut flipped the credstick out of his sleeve and discreetly passed it to Baze, who glanced down to check its amount.

He grunted, and tucked the credstick into his pouch on his belt.

“They don’t pay very much for good news, either.”

“Everyone has already made up their mind what they want to hear,” said Chirrut. He leaned back and wrapped his hands around his staff to look up towards the sky. “They just want someone else to say it.”

Baze grunted an acknowledgement, his eyes scanning the crowd. He went very still and dropped his hand to rest on the grip of his blaster, holding his breath, as a squad of stormtroopers made their way through the intersection, parting the crowd like water.

They were quiet until they passed, through Chirrut raised his hand to wave as one of them looked their way.

Baze relaxed his hold once they were gone.

“We should go,” he grunted.

“A little longer.” Chirrut nudged him with his staff. “We got a good spot today.”

The words weren’t fully out when a young girl ran up to them through the crowd. She was crying, babbling, and waving her hands in near-hysterics until Chirrut reached out and caught them. He cupped her hands in both his own and tucked them down between them, whispering soothing sounds.

Baze watched, one eyebrow raised.

He couldn’t make out much through the mumbling and the sniffling, but from the sound of it, the girl had lost something.

Chirrut smiled.

He stroked back her hair from her face, and pressed his thumb for just a moment to her brow.

This time his brows drew close together and his mouth formed a firm line. He really was concentrating.

“There are rats in your building, yes?” he said after a moment. The little girl bobbed her head, eyes wide and tears forming streaks through the dust on her face.

Chirrut squeezed her hand.

“One of them found your doll and decided they wanted to keep it. Get your brother to chase them off, and you’ll find her in their nest.”

The girl stopped, staring up at him, then launched herself forward to hug around his shoulders as wide as her small arms could reach.

Chirrut laughed, and patted her back, then sent her on her way.

Baze frowned, watching her go.

“You should have charged her.”

“Oh yes. Her pocket lint would have been quite valuable.”

Chirrut braced himself on his staff to rise up. Baze reached down, automatic, to take hold of his arm and help. Chirrut patted his shoulder and kept one hand there, lingering close, as they turned to leave as well, heading the opposite way.

“Baze,” Chirrut said, quietly so only Baze could hear beneath the surrounding murmur of the crowd.

Baze grunted.

“What does the sky look like right now?”

Baze glanced up.

“Blue,” he said. “Like always.”

“And around the edges?”

“Lighter blue.”

“Any clouds?”

“No.” Baze sighed. “I’m going to get you a droid.”

“I don’t need a droid.” Chirrut smiled again. It was…that smile…the one that had worked on Baze since the beginning. Chirrut stood tip-toe to prop his chin for just a moment on Baze’s shoulder, letting it rest there. “I have you.”


End file.
